“You have a pretty deep cut here, but it looks like maybe you got stung, too. Did you see anything? A scorpion or a spider?”
"Scorpion?There are scorpions out here?" And just like that I imagine them crawling out of the bushes and all over me with their spiny little legs. Nope, nope, nope. I’m out of here. I try to get on my feet, but the stars cloud my vision and I fall back.
“Whoa, hey.” His deep voice is soothing. “Stay put for a second. Keep breathing. I’ll help you up and we’ll take care of that.” He nods at my ankle. “You didn’t see what got you, I take it?”
I shudder. “I was…” I’m not about to tell this extremely handsome man (I’m not in too much pain to register his perfectly stubbled chin and dark brown puppy dog eyes) what I had been doing when I injured myself. “I was just hiking and I ran into a bush. I didn’t see anything.”
He quickly exchanges a crooked smirk for a serious expression—creases between the eyes, lips a firm line, nodding. I saw that look, though. He isn’t fooling me.
"Well, whatever it was, we need to take care of the sting. I've got a first aid kit. Can you walk if you lean on me?"
He wraps his hands around mine, easing me upright. I start to put weight on the bad ankle, but the movement only stokes the fire running up my leg. Without meaning to, I fall into his side. He threads his big arm around my waist and instructs me to wrap my arm around his shoulders and lean into him.Don’t mind if I do.He’s solid and steady. He's also gentle, like he promised.
"Is this good?" His voice is rough, but low in my ear.
It’s an innocent question and I know he means nothing by it, but even through the pain my whole body zips with the good kind of electricity.Calm down, Indie. You're about to die, remember?
"This is great." I hobble alongside him for a few steps before adding, "Thank you. I'm so glad you were close by."
He is quiet for a moment. "Me, too."
He holds my weight as we walk, which I am grateful for, since I can feel my heartbeat in my ankle and every step only magnifies it. After what feels like miles of trudging through loose sand and pebbles, I spot an ancient white Bronco parked on this side of the van. Our two vehicles parked together look like they escaped from the same museum exhibit.
"Almost there." He squeezes my waist, "You're doing great."
"I've always been a proficient hobbler." My accompanying laugh is breathy, but I gasp when we hit the paved road and I step too hard with the wrong foot. "Ouch."
His grasp tightens. "Careful. Put more weight on me, if you can."
I am determined to be a good patient so I lean into him, catching a whiff of some hyper-masculine scent on the breeze that makes the pain fade. He smells incredible. It’s the perfect combination of mountain air, aftershave, and pheromones.
When we get to the Bronco, he settles me against its side and lowers the tailgate in one swift motion.
"Can you hop up here?"
I judge the height of the tailgate against myself, estimate the strength of my left leg, and determine that a vertical jump to that height on one leg will never, ever happen in this lifetime. Factor in the form-fitting evening dress and high heels, and I’m basically a land mermaid. How embarrassing.
"Uh…" is my eloquent response. I prop my hands on the metal as though I am going to attempt this feat.
And the next thing I know, strong hands are at my velvet-wrapped waist, lifting and placing me softly on the tailgate. "There we go. Lemme grab the first aid kit."
He rifles around for a minute and comes back with a small metal box. He repositions me sideways with my legs stretched in front of me.
“May I?” He nods toward my ridiculously unsuitable footwear, but before I can answer he unfastens the delicate buckles with nimble fingers. He hands me my sandy heels, then goes to work wiping my ankles and feet with cool alcohol wipes.
I can’t believe how scratched up my ankles had gotten from my therapeutic bush kicking, but the right one has a three-inch gash that burns like crazy when he cleans it. Just underneath it is a swollen red mark that I figure is where I had been stung. The combination forms a perfect exclamation point that communicates, "You have gravely wounded yourself and thereby summoned the aid of a Greek god! Well done!"
I watch with wide eyes as he cleans and bandages my ankle, muscles pulling and bunching under his gray t-shirt as he works.Hello, tall drink of water in the desert.The throbbing is now a steady, but manageable pain as he leans in to get a closer look at the sting.
"I don't think you need stitches for the cut, and that looks like a scorpion sting to me. If you want I can take you to a doctor, but they usually heal in a week or two."
He hands me a few ibuprofen and his metal water bottle. I swallow the pills quickly, drinking a lot more of his icy cold water than I should. I didn't realize how thirsty I had gotten.
"Feeling any better?"
"It hurts, but whatever you did helped a lot." I attempt to smile through the pain, but I worry that I just looked deranged. Time for damage control. "Thank you for helping me. That was so kind of you."
"Of course." He smiles. That smile is better than any painkiller.
